


Home

by YanderexBabydoll



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26106844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: You’d begged for this, but not because you had any real desire to come back to the city you have nothing bad memories of.Not because, as Oikawa had suggested, cooing at you between soft, indulgent kisses, you couldn’t bear to be apart from him, but because the thought of being trapped alone in that house for a week was more than you could take.You thought you’d wanted this.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 229





	Home

You watch idly from the balcony of your penthouse suite as the storm rolls through. **  
**

It’s pouring torrentially, the night sky lit with flashes of crackling lightning and the thunder rumbling so loudly that you feel the reverberations in your chest. A summer storm to rival the best of them. Furious and violent. It’ll last twenty minutes maybe and then peter off into nothing but a drizzle.

You don’t get storms like this back home.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

_Home._

The little villa in the valley. Beautiful and airy, set amongst the stunning backdrop of vineyards and mountains - a breathtaking, gilded _cage_ built just for you. A gift, he’d said, carrying you across the threshold.

When had that become home?

Another fork of lightning cracks through the inky black sky, close enough that you feel the lingering charge of static electricity hanging in the air around you. The night is balmy - pleasant even, despite the storm - but a chill runs through you all the same, goosebumps dotting the bare skin of your arms. You haven’t changed out of the long, teal silk dress he’d chosen for you. The nude Louboutin heels were kicked off somewhere near the door, your pretty necklace and the pins from your hair tossed carelessly aside on the glass table. You’d meant to come back to the room and take a long, calming shower, but somehow you’d found yourself here instead - sitting on the balcony with your arms wrapped loosely around your knees, staring at the city below you.

Buenos Aires. The last time you were here was years ago, and only for a night. Back then it hadn’t been a fancy hotel suite you’d been staying at, but a run down little motel room in downtown. God, you’d been so scared, clinging to him all night, afraid to let him go for even a second.

Some things don’t change, you suppose.

You’d begged for this, but not because you had any real desire to come back to the city you have nothing bad memories of. Not because, as Oikawa had suggested, cooing at you between soft, indulgent kisses, you couldn’t bear to be apart from him, but because the thought of being trapped alone in that house for a week was more than you could take. 

You thought you’d wanted this. 

There were conditions of course. None that had to be spoken, but you understood them well enough. You thought you’d pay anything. Let Oikawa take what he liked, pretend that you wanted it too. Lavish him in love and affection until he was drowning in it. Let him drape himself over you, tug you from event to event never letting you out of his sight.

 _Anything_ to get out of that house.

The game had been overwhelming, to say the least. Sitting front row, watching him play, it brought back memories from high school. He was incredible, you’ve known that since the beginning, but to see how he’s grown… volleyball has always been the only thing he’s cared about. Well, volleyball and you.

You still remember that insecure boy you’d fallen in love with, so worried that no matter how hard he tried, he’d forever be in the shadows of geniuses. 

How far you’ve both come.

When that final point was scored and the stadium erupted in a roaring cheers the tears that welled in your eyes hadn’t been of happiness, or nostalgia, but an ache so deep in your heart that it felt like somebody was slowly cleaving you in two. And his eyes had swept across the room to find yours, an elated grin on his face, and suddenly it’d felt like you couldn’t _breathe_.

Then came the after party. They’d won the national championship - celebrating the end of the season and their landslide victory, well that was a given. And you have beautiful clothes at home, expensive jewellery that would make a lot of women green with envy, but you so rarely get to go out anymore. 

You knew that he wouldn’t let you stray from his side. That every word you spoke would be under careful scrutiny - not that you could speak much Spanish to begin with. 

But you hadn’t cared. 

It was the most freedom he’d given you in years.

Nerves had eaten away at your stomach as you stepped out in the flowing silk number he’d picked just for tonight, but neither that nor the positively _wicked_ glint in Oikawa’s eyes as he gave you a leisurely once over had been enough to dampen the small, excited smile on your face.

The hotel ballroom was filled to the brim with athletes and socialites. The music was loud, hypnotic, the pulse of the beat echoing deep inside of your chest. Champagne was free flowing, and it wasn’t long before champagne turned into liquor shots and whiskey, but with Oikawa’s arm curled snugly around your lower back, you nursed your own drink slowly. 

Getting drunk would’ve been… a bad idea.

He, on the other hand, had no issues knocking back drink after drink as he swept through the room, chatting with whomever seemed to catch his eye. You recognised his teammates of course, a few of their partners, but the rest were veritable strangers. So many people packed so _close_. After months of isolation, it was disorienting to say the least.

You’d simply stuck by Oikawa’s side, smiling and nodding politely while he’d spoken for the both of you. Yet you could feel the eyes that followed you from across the room. They weren’t malicious - well, you didn’t think they were (these people didn’t _know_ you, so how could they possibly hate you?) - but curious. Ill intentioned or not, the stares hadn’t exactly put you at ease.

Of course Oikawa had noticed.

“Ignore them, cutie,” he’d whispered in your ear, noticing the tense set of your shoulders, the telling flush in your cheek. “Come dance with me.”

And you’d let him tug you into the heaving crowd, pulling you close and letting his hands settle on your hips as the two of you moved in time with the beat. Dancing was probably the wrong word for it, but Oikawa had hardly cared, his lips finding your neck, sucking bruising kisses into the tender skin while you tried to lose yourself to the music.

It was what you’d wanted. A night of freedom, of drinking and dancing and other people - a reprieve from the oppressive isolation of home.

Now that you had it at your fingertips… it felt wrong. 

Stifling. 

But you’d held it together just _fine_ until Oikawa had winked and slipped from your side to visit the men’s room. 

Without the safety of his presence to cling to, all of a sudden you’d floundered.

Like a tidal wave you couldn’t _stop_ all of that panic and unease that had been eating away at you bit by bit over the past few days of this trip rose up and crashed over you, obliterating any semblance of control you had. 

It was all too much. 

The stares, the music, the drinking, the raucous chatter. The room was too hot and there were too many people, all of them strangers, and you’d felt so out of place, not just because you were foreign but because you didn’t belong here, and as tears had started welling up in your eyes and you’d squeezed them shut, all you could think about was that you so desperately wanted to be _home_.

Strong, familiar arms had enveloped you a split second later and you _hated_ yourself for the sigh of relief you breathed as you’d all but collapsed against him.

You hadn’t fought it when he’d pulled back just far enough to kiss you. Not a chaste peck, but a searing, open mouthed affair that had you breathless, flushed and dizzy. You could taste the mint and tequila on his tongue, the familiar taste of _him_ beneath that. You’d clung to it like a life raft, letting it centre you, calm your racing heart. 

When he’d broken it, he’d stared at you for a long moment, his thumb easing over the apple of your cheek, taking with it the stray tear that had spilled. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” he’d surmised, and wordlessly, you’d nodded.

Oikawa had just sighed, letting you clutch at his jacket as he stroked your back soothingly. “Do you want to leave, baby? Go back upstairs to the room?” 

And you might have believed the worry leaching into his tone if not for the sick satisfaction glinting in those deep brown eyes, hiding behind the concerned veneer he’d perfected so well. But like a cat toying with its prey, even he couldn’t hide the faint hint of a smirk that had curled across his lips as the hand on your lower back dipped, coming to rest on the curve of your ass.

All that relief you’d felt quickly turned cold and _bitter_ in your stomach.

As if you’d been stung, you yanked yourself free from his grip. “Don’t touch me,” you’d hissed, glaring up at him before stalking for the wide double doors.

And he’d watched you go, amusement dancing across his pretty face.

Thunder rumbles, and you rub absentmindedly at your bare arms. You have no one and nothing but him, he’s done everything in his power to make damn sure of it. You can’t remember the last time you spoke to your parents, your old friends from high school have long since given up on trying to reach out to you. 

He was gone for a few fucking _minutes_ and you-

You fell apart.

Completely.

Utterly.

When you’d shut your eyes, it hadn’t been the villa in San Juan you’d thought of, or the old apartment you’d lived in with your family back in Miyagi - you’d thought of chestnut brown eyes and the warmth of his chest pressed up against your back in the early hours of the morning. You’d thought of lazy kisses, the soft, indulgent smile he’d grace you with when he came home every night. 

You’d thought of _him_. 

While you sit, curled up on the balcony like a frightened child, the storm around you continues to rage around you. 

You should hate him. 

You _do_ hate him.

He’s a selfish, arrogant piece of shit who dragged you thousands of miles away from your home to a foreign country and locked you away from the world because he believed his love for you was more important than whatever fucking dreams you might have had.

And you’d been blind and stupid and _young_ and you’d _let_ him.

You’d let Oikawa take and take and take until he was the only thing you had left. 

It’s your own fault as much as it is his, you suppose. If you hadn’t been so naive, so trusting of the boy you loved, maybe you might have noticed the monster hiding beneath Oikawa’s pretty smiles and prettier word sooner.

Not that it matters anymore. You are where you are - there’s no chain around your ankle, nothing stopping you from walking out that door and not looking back. 

You could leave, if you really wanted to.

But where would you go?

Your passport is back home, hundreds of miles away, locked away in a safe protected by a combination you don’t know. And even if it wasn’t, you’d had to give up your citizenship when you’d both become naturalised here. You can’t just fly back to Japan and try to pick up where you left off all those years ago. 

That life doesn’t exist anymore.

You have no money of your own. You could try and pawn your jewellery, the glittering diamond wedding bands and the necklace he’d gifted you earlier, but how far would that money take you? What are you supposed to do when it runs dry? Find a job? It should be easy when you have no skills, no experience and you can’t speak the language.

You don’t have friends or family here, nobody to shelter you while you figured everything out. It’s not safe for you to be out there on your own. You have no home but the one he’s given you.

You’re the wife of Oikawa Tooru, starting setter for the national volleyball team. You can’t just up and disappear into thin air here.

And you know deep in your heart that even if you try, he won’t ever let you. Oikawa would follow you to the ends of the earth if only to drag you back with him.

Amidst the pouring rain and the rumbling thunder, you don’t hear the door to your hotel room open, nor the sound of your husband shedding his jacket and tie, tossing them carelessly over the loveseat as he approaches.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight, baby?” he croons, coming up to lean over the back of your seat. 

Swallowing tersely, you opt to ignore him. 

He hums lightly, unperturbed by your silence and continues, “I _certainly_ did, though I would have preferred it if my lovely wife hadn’t abandoned me halfway though.”

You’re intent on ignoring him and the pouting tone, but long, pale fingers coax your head back. Dark, glittering eyes meet yours, irises almost swallowed by dilated pupils. His nose twitches, a telling little sniffle as he grins widely down at you.

Your heart lurches, “Tooru, what-”

He’s quick to silence any protests with a kiss, his tongue greedily sliding between your parted lips. 

You could fight it. You have before - kicking and screaming, lashing out with sharp nails and biting insults - except you both know how that ends. Tooru always gets what he wants in the end.

You’re tired.

So _fucking_ tired. 

His hand, warm and eager slides down the column of your throat, dipping under the low silk neckline of your dress to cup your breast as he circles around you. 

He’s usually a talker whenever he’s trying to fuck you, but as your husband stares at you with those dilated eyes, breathing deeply, all he offers is a surprisingly husky, “ _Beautiful_.”

Even after all that’s happened between you two, it never fails to make your cheeks warm.

He wastes no time in dropping to his knees and prying your legs apart so that he can settle between them. Your dress is in the way so he grabs at the hem and yanks, ignoring your indignant protests as the silk fabric gives all too easily.

“I’ll buy you another,” he mutters distractedly, and your black lace panties (another gift) follow suit. 

You’re not given a moment's reprieve before your calves are thrown over his broad shoulders and Oikawa’s tongue is delving between your warm folds.

Lightning flashes overhead as your back arches up and your hands find purchase in his soft brunette locks. It’s not particularly refined, the way he eats you out, alternating between long, teasing strokes along your pussy and toying with your clit - sucking on it, letting the tip of his tongue flick across the sensitive bud until you’re _squirming_ beneath him - before finally giving you what you want. When his tongue slips into the warm, slick walls of your cunt you can’t help the breathy moan that leaves your lips.

And when he starts to fuck you with it, your hands tighten in his hair and you jerk him closer, hips bucking up to meet his fervent touch. But it’s the sight of those hungry eyes, staring intently up at you from between your thighs as you moan and writhe that pushes you over the edge entirely, cumming with a cry that’s swallowed by the storm still raging around you.

He doesn’t let up for a moment, his grip on your thighs tightening (there’ll definitely be bruises tomorrow) and lapping at your juices while you ride out your orgasm on his face.

But you’re not so naive to think that it’s over as he pulls away, wiping off the spit and slick shining on his jaw with the back of his hand. Neither of you say anything as he gently pulls you to your feet, discarding the ruined remains of your dress without a care.

He fucks you on the balcony, your back pushed up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist. You tune out the breathless, adoring whispers and moans at your ear, losing yourself entirely to the sensation of his cock stretching you out so deliciously, the way each stabbing thrust hit that perfect spot deep inside of you.

It’s easy to pretend that it’s only physical when he’s like this. 

With your head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and your bottom lip caught between your teeth you cum for the second time around his cock. He follows a split second later, choking out your name like a prayer.

“I love you,” he gasps, stealing your lips once more.

It’s hours later, after the storm has passed and you’re lying exhausted and entwined in bed, your head resting against his bare chest that you begin to wonder when exactly Oikawa had become _home_ for you.


End file.
